


Kinky Boots

by silentdescant



Series: Weekend PROMPTX [1]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Boot Worship, Dom/sub, Feminization, High Heels, Leather, M/M, Mild Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 19:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13864794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: “You’re gonna make me work for it,” Mark murmurs. Mitch smirks at him but doesn’t reply. Mark doesn’t have to ask if he’s like this with Scott; Mark is all too accustomed to Scott’s charisma, his dominance. There’s no doubt in his mind that Mitch submits to him without question.





	Kinky Boots

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt word: scene. Also inspired by @Sreed09 and our conversation about boot worship/feminization/dirty talk for Mitch and Mark.

This scene is going to be fun. Interesting. It feels almost taboo, to have Mitch standing in front of him, almost fully naked. Mitch isn’t _his_ , Mitch is Scott’s, even now. Mark’s just playing with his boyfriend’s toys. They don’t need supervision, though they did ask for permission. This is Mark’s scene, and he’s excited to play it out.

The only thing Mitch wears is an arm binder, black leather with a row of buckles cinched tight, keeping his forearms locked together behind his back. His fingers are stretched, straining to curl around the opposite elbow, and the position forces Mitch’s shoulders back, his spine into an arch that pushes his chest forward. It makes him stand tall. His chin is lifted; he looks almost haughty. When Mark circles around, he finds Mitch staring straight ahead with a challenging expression darkening his features.

“You’re gonna make me work for it,” Mark murmurs. Mitch smirks at him but doesn’t reply. Mark doesn’t have to ask if he’s like this with Scott; Mark is all too accustomed to Scott’s charisma, his dominance. There’s no doubt in his mind that Mitch submits to him without question.

Mark trails the backs of his fingers down Mitch’s cheek, the sharp angle of his jaw. The gentle touch makes Mitch’s eyelashes flutter beautifully.

“So pretty,” Mark says. “Prettier on your knees, I think.”

Mitch sinks down, keeps his head raised, his face tilted up toward Mark.

“You want to be pretty, don’t you?” Mark asks. “Pretty little princess always gets what she wants, huh? It’s okay. I’m gonna give you what you want. But not for free.”

Mark walks around Mitch, out of his view again, over to the corner of the room. “You’re a spoiled little brat,” he says as he sifts through his duffel bag. He pulls out the pair of stiletto boots and steps into them as quietly as he can. “You gotta earn what I give you.”

The zippers along the side of the boots are deafeningly loud to Mark’s ears. He wonders if Mitch knows what the sound is from. He’ll know in a few seconds, anyway, as soon as Mark takes a single step in the tall heels.

Sure enough, as soon as Mark shifts his weight and the heels click against the hard floor, Mitch turns his head sharply. His breathing has quickened. Mark grins at how easy Mitch is to predict, at least in this one specific way.

He walks back over, stomping down with each step to drive home that distinctive noise. Mark sets his weight and lifts one foot to the center of Mitch’s back, the toe of his boot right between Mitch’s prominent shoulder blades. He knows Mitch can feel the stiletto heel digging into his spine. He lets that sensation sink in for a second before shoving Mitch forward.

Without his arms to catch him, he goes down hard on his belly, panting for breath. Mark positions his foot again on Mitch’s back, presses him down just enough to make him grunt and struggle. Then he bends down and uses a fistful of Mitch’s hair to wrench his head up, turn him to the side, just enough so he can see the shiny black leather of Mark’s boot.

“You like these?” he asks placidly. “I didn’t take them from your closet, but… maybe I’ll let you keep them, after this. You like them, I can tell.” Mark laughs softly at the way Mitch’s stare is fixed on the narrow heel. “It’s hard to balance with heels this tall, but you already know that, don’t you, princess? You know what it’s like to dress up and have everyone ooh and aww over your expensive clothes, all your pretty, designer things.”

“Yes,” Mitch groans.

Mark lets go of his hair, lets his head fall to the floor. He leaves Mitch there in the center of the room for a moment while he drags over a low stool and sits his bare ass right down on it. It’s cold, but he tries not to let that show on his face. Mitch is watching his every move.

Mark crosses his legs and lets his hand drift over the leather around his calf. It squeaks a little as he strokes it. Mitch squirms on the floor and blinks hard. There’s sweat on his forehead, up by his hairline.

“You wanna wear these pretty boots, princess?” Mark asks. He curls his fingers around the arch of his foot, fondles the heel for a moment. There’s no mistaking his meaning with his closed fist and rhythmic motions. Mitch is practically drooling for it. “You want them to make you feel pretty, huh? You want all this stuff, all this frivolous bullshit, just to feel pretty? Just so someone will call you beautiful?”

With his other foot, Mark grinds his toe into Mitch’s upturned cheek. He presses down gradually, letting Mitch get used to the weight until Mitch is whining and struggling, arms twisting in their binds.

“These aren’t rhetorical questions, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” Mitch gasps, “yes, I want that.”

“You want me to call you beautiful?”

“ _Yes_ , please.”

“What did I tell you earlier, huh? You spoiled bitch, what did I tell you?”

“Earn it, I have to earn it.”

“That’s right.” Mark lifts his foot and reaches down to manhandle Mitch back up to his knees. It takes him a few seconds to regain his equilibrium and balance with his legs spread wide, and Mark’s more than happy to keep his hands on Mitch’s heaving chest until he settles.

Finally, Mitch is kneeling in front of him, looking decidedly less challenging. His previous intensity is replaced by a hazy desperation, eyes half-lidded with desire. Mark pets him, slides his fingers through Mitch’s sweaty hair and down the side of his face. He looks incredibly beautiful like this, driven crazy by lust and submission, and it’s so hard for Mark to bite his tongue and keep those words from spilling out.

It’s not time yet. Mitch hasn’t earned it yet.

“You wanna be a pretty little princess? Wear expensive clothes and designer shoes? You want to turn heads and feel superior to everyone? You want everyone to stare at you? You want to feel their jealousy, their envy?”

“Yes.”

“You fuckin’ beg for it, then, bitch. Show me how much you want these pretty shoes. Show me how much you want those fuckin’ compliments. Show me you fucking deserve them.”

“ _Please_.”

Mark takes hold of Mitch’s hair again and drags him forward, presses his face down against the shiny, black leather. “Show me how much you want to be beautiful,” he growls.

Mitch doesn’t need any more prompting. He turns his face and presses an open-mouthed, desperate kiss to Mark’s toe. His tongue pokes out and he drags his mouth up, leaving a slick trail until he reaches the zipper on the outside of Mark’s ankle. He plays with the toggle with his tongue, flicking it back and forth, then sticks his tongue out fully to lick all the way up the zipper. Mark can feel the light pressure of Mitch’s kisses through the material and he doesn’t even try to contain his groan of satisfaction. Mitch kisses his way back down to the toe next, losing himself in the task. He’s utterly focused on kissing this boot, bathing it and worshipping it with his tongue, to the point that he’s echoing Mark’s moans.

“Suck it, bitch,” Mark breathes, shifting his foot up so his ankle rests on his knee. “Show off those skills. I know you got ‘em, you little slut.”

Mitch takes direction so well. He ducks around and leans against Mark’s other leg, positioning himself perfectly to take the stiletto heel into his mouth. He closes his lips around it and takes it in like he would a cock. His lips are pink and glistening with saliva, so plush and perfect, and Mark just _knows_ he’s using his tongue to tease around the heel too.

Mark takes his cock in his hand and strokes himself quickly, wishing he could have Mitch’s beautiful lips around him, but that’s not the purpose of this scene. It’s all about the boots.

“You wanna come, princess?” Mark asks breathily.

Mitch pulls off with a wet slurp and gasps, “Yes, yes, please.”

“Use the boot. If you can—Get yourself off on the fuckin’ boots.”

Mark is losing control, but he shifts his leg forward and Mitch straddles him eagerly, presses the hot length of his cock against Mark’s leather-clad shin. His cock is drooling precome and the boots are still slick with saliva too, and Mitch rolls his hips frantically to achieve the friction he needs. Mark squeezes his own dick, desperate to wait until Mitch has come first. It’s not going to be long for either of them.

When Mitch’s come drips across the arch of Mark’s boot only a few moments later, Mark reaches forward and grabs Mitch’s hair, tilts his face up and comes all over his desperately open mouth, soiling him the way he soiled the leather. After they’re both finished, Mark pushes him and lets him slide face-down to the floor.

He stands and positions his come-stained boot in front of Mitch’s face.

“Clean it up, princess,” he says. “Clean it up and I’ll give you what you want.”

Mitch moves languidly now but he’s no less enthusiastic, shifting closer on his belly as well as he can to get enough leverage. He licks up every trace of come that he can reach, sighing with satisfaction every time he swallows.

When he’s done, Mark unbuckles the binder tying his arms together. Mitch winces when they fall free, rolls his shoulders a few times, and settles again with his arms at his sides. He’s breathing deeply and his eyes are closed, but he’s not asleep. Mark lowers himself to the floor and pulls Mitch around, turning him so he’s lying face-up in Mark’s lap.

He wipes a few streaks of come off Mitch’s flushed cheeks. He wonders if there will be bruises from the boot. He kind of hopes so.

“Do I really get to have them?” Mitch whispers.

Mark strokes his thumb over Mitch’s lips and watches his long eyelashes flutter open. “Of course, sweetheart. They’ll look beautiful on you.” Mitch smiles serenely and sighs, lets his eyelids slip shut again. Mark stares down at his calm, tired expression and can’t think of a sight more lovely. “Pretty little princess.”

 

 _fin_.


End file.
